O' Children
by Kelly123
Summary: Broken glass and spilled whiskey.
1. Dewars

_This...well,this was unexpected._

_I truly thought I was through with fanfiction. Writing it at least, I'm sure I will have the guilty pleasure of reading it for some time to come. But I read a little ditty called "MY MUGGLE MAID" and slowly the inspiration bloomed. I entertained the idea in my head for some time, but last night I started jotting down a few lines lest I forget my own daydreams. What ended up on my computer screen is what you now read, or rather, what you shall read in a moment or two (hopefully). So I owe credit to KAMIANGEL for inspiration, and endorse her story for inadvertently spawning the creation of mine (though they are both quite different, save for one aspect).  
_

_The title and lyrics below are from Nick Cave's song "O'Children" which I am sure you will all recognize as the tune Harry and Hermione danced to in Deathly Hallows, which was cute, but still didn't make up for the fact that we didn't get to see R/Hr dancing at the wedding. Smidge of bitterness. Anyway, lovely bit of depressing music!_

_I own nothing and all that, so read and (I hope you) enjoy!  
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**_"Forgive us now for what we've done_**  
**_It started out as a bit of fun"_**

There was a bottle of liquor in one of her highest cabinets, opened but barely consumed. Without speaking she turned on her heel and strode across the small room, glad for the gentle slap of her footsteps against the cheap linoleum to drown out the din of her raucously beating heart. Yanking the cabinet open, she pulled the bottle down from the self and unscrewed the cap with shaking hands. She needed something to do, any excuse to turn away while she composed herself. Or at least, attempted to. She grabbed two glasses and filled them both, sloshing a bit of liquid over the side in the process. The mess she made puddled on the counter, and she was glad she couldn't see her reflection in its amber surface. Her face felt tight and drawn, and surely all the color had drained from her complexion. She wondered, somewhere, in the selfish part of her mind, if she looked different to him now. But that was preposterous thinking, and must be pushed away. She gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself, took a breathe, and turned around to face him.

He said nothing as she slid the drink in front of him, but lifted it to his lips regardless.

Her trembling left hand, now empty, moved to join its mate at its resting place on her own glass, fingers intertwining as she struggled to maintain some semblance of sanity. The drink she held remained immobile, and she could not watch as his made its journey to his mouth, or the silent gulp as he drained half of the contents, or the slow bob of his adam's apples as the muggle whiskey burned a steady path down his throat. The action seemed too intimate for the people they were now, and she felt like an intruder in her own kitchen. Instead she focused on that hand, on _his_ hand as it came back down to rest in front of him. He clenched the tumbler tightly in his fist, fingers wrapped around its surface, obscuring the little alcohol it still contained from view. His knuckles were white with the heavy tension that hung about the small room like an unbearable fog, and she knew her own matched him in that. But this was where the similarities ended. These hands, always large but once clumsy and fumbling, were the hands of a grown man now. Even from her distance she could see that they were rough and weather-beaten, and she was sure if she were to taken them in her own she would find them a great deal more calloused than the last time they brushed her cheek.

Of course, she couldn't, not now…but the very thought of the sentimental gesture broke something inside her, and without thinking she closed her eyes and let go of the word in the softest of whispers,

"Ron…"

"Bloody hell Hermione!" Her eyes flew open at the sound of his voice, harsh and thick with emotion so much so that she wouldn't have recognized it…if it hadn't been the exact same tone her had used after he had flew into a rage at Fred's death. She had been the one to calm him that night, but she was the cause for his condition now. There was barely a moment to take in the horrible sound he made before the noise of his glass colliding against the wall caused her to flinch. His arm remained outstretched, quivering from the power he had put behind the pitch, but she did not see it. She had done it at last, and despite her best efforts. When he first spoke her eyes went immediately, unthinkingly to meet his gaze, and now she found herself trapped in their intensity and unable to look away. "This wasn't a decision you were allowed to make!"

"Ron-" she tried again, still softly so as to try and mask the unsteadiness of her voice.

"No! No, Hermione no!" He moved his outstretched arm, pivoting it in her direction and curling his fingers back, all but one, to point his index at her accusingly. "You had no right. No right!"

His voice shook violently, and he made no attempt to try and conceal or control the anger boiling within him. The sky blue of his eyes was icy with it, and all of his rage was directed at her. Pain, a dreadful cleaving of a deep wound that had never really healed, ripped through her. She shook with the effort of trying to contain the sobs threatening to wrack through her, of trying not to collapse on the floor at his feet. Years ago she would have, or maybe shouted something dreadful at him before she fled into another room to lose herself, but know she couldn't, she wouldn't. Instead she held her ground, heart heaving and heavy but throat dry.

She didn't know what to say. There was nothing to say. There was no way to justify what she had done…no way that he would understand.

"Ron, please! You don't understand!" She pleaded, the first tear escaping as she spoke. She hated herself for letting it fall, hated the weakness the precipitation portrayed. She wasn't a frail little girl, not anymore... she wasn't a girl at all.

His hand dropped from its accusatory position in front of her to slam, palm down, against the counter. The dishes in the sink rattled against each other at the force, and she wrapped her arms around herself tightly as if to try and hold the crumbling bits of this charade she had concocted together. She was breaking, just like the glass against the wall, his anger the cause of both their destruction. The tears were flowing freely now, and she knew it was futile to try and hold them at bay any longer. "Please…" she repeated, more of a whimper this time.

The sound that came from his lips could have been a laugh, but it wasn't his. His laugh, or rather, the laugh she remembered him having, was long, loud and unabashed. It was the kind of laugh that made you smile, even if you had no idea what was so funny, even if you were determined to keep a solemn face to teach him a lesson. No matter, he could always coax a grin out of her. This, however, this was the sound of another sort entirely, something almost sinister, something she never expected from him. He had always been the one with the temper, a short fuse and a jealous streak a mile wide, but his dark was too slight to hold back all his bright. It seemed the tables had been turned though. Because this was the laugh of a man who has nothing in the world left to laugh for.

And she was the one who took it from him.

"I don't understand? I don't _understand_, Hermione?" His voice rose to a pitch like that of a madman and she when she shivered it had nothing to do with the November weather. "You're bloody well right I don't understand! I don't understand why you're here, in America for Christ's sake, and why I'm not! I don't understand what the _hell_ has been going on these past three years! I don't understand a damn thing, so why don't you try and explain it to me then? Why doesn't the know-it-all do what she does best and lord her supreme knowledge over us poor common people? Oh, and try to break it down in small words for a _stupid, _sodding git like me, please. We aren't all-"

He was preoccupied, wrapped up in his fury and lost in his rage. His cold eyes were wild and unseeing, and she knew this was her opportunity to take what she knew might be her only chance. She hated herself as she reached for it, cursed the coldness that had grown in her own damaged heart that she could even contemplate such a thing at a time like this, but despite all of _that_ she didn't doubt herself for a minute. She didn't regret her actions, not a one. All she could regret were their results, only the pain she had caused to those she loved. She still knew she hadn't had a choice, and that she had done what was best for both of them. He would never see that, never understand why she had to do what she did, and she could never explain it to him. Slowly, stealthily, she drew her slender wand from inside her shirtsleeve, the spell tingling unpleasantly on her lips as she waited for her moment, for him to turn his flushed face from her so that she could have a clear shot. It would hurt her so much more than he was hurting now, the ache in his soul was nothing compared to what she would endure, what she had endured these many years…but it would be worth it, and what he never knew couldn't cause him pain any longer.

"Obliv-"

"NO! EXPELLIARMUS!"

His reactions were infallible, his reflexes like lightening, the true mark of the Auror he was now. He held her wand along with his own before she had even seen him move to draw it from underneath his heavy coat. For a moment she thought he would snap it in two with the slightest clenching of his shaking fist, so great had his wrath grown. The thought appeared to have occurred to him as well, for it was with a great effort that he stowed the vine wood and dragon heartsting weapon on his person and out of her reach. Angry sparks flew from his own, as smoldering a red as burning embers, a hue to match his fevered skin, and he stared at them for a long time, breathing deeply until they dimmed and burned out. He seemed to die along with them, and though he kept his eyes trained on his wand, she could see his shoulders slump and his face go slack. When he spoke a moment later his voice no longer shook.

"No." He said, his speech no longer angry, but low and tired, the tone of a weary old man. "No Hermione, not again."

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_I don't believe I've ever written angry!Ron before, but he does have quite the temper, so it wasn't hard to imagine. Hope you found it satisfactory, but I do not have a beta so any mistakes or constructive criticism would be accepted with open arms!  
_


	2. Maker's Mark

_Well hello there! Back again! _

_So let me whine for a moment, because, ugh, I dislike writing chapters stories. Suppose I am an instant gratification kind of girl, but I've decided not to make this a one-shot. Because that would make me a not very nice kind of girl, which I would like to think is not the case...but there is an end in sight...if not one on paper (yet).  
_

_But I own nothing and all that, so on with the show (story)!  
_

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_**"We're older now, the light is dim**_  
_** And you are only just beginning."**_

Her head was spinning.

In fact, everything was spinning, a topsy-turvy, stomach-turning sort of experience of the most unpleasant kind. All of it, her yet-untouched glass of whiskey, the tiny room, his stony face, they all swam before her in a dizzying haze of colors. She felt as though her whole world had been tilted off its axis, and as a result everything was on the verge of tumbling off of the edge and into oblivion. But to put things in perspective, her world, this sad, strange little world she had been living in for the past three years, had never really been aligned correctly. Nothing that happened here could have ever transpired in the universe everyone else lived in…especially not in the one Ron lived in.

She wouldn't let it.

Not again. He said it, but if he knew, if he truly knew what it meant, he wouldn't mean it. Didn't he see this was the only way? That there was no way they could never move on from this point of here and now, this utterly dreadful moment in their lives? How could he not know that his life could never have any semblance of normalcy again unless he let her erase this entire debacle?

Of course he couldn't. He wouldn't. That was why she had done it in the first place. It had all been for him…everything had always been for him.

She swallowed several times in her attempt to speak, wanting desperately to break the awful silence with something more than the gasping, broken sobs that had overtaken her. "Ron, I-"

"You don't deny it?" He said curtly, tightening his grip on the wand he held, eyes having never once left it.

She took a deep breathe, mustering all her strength to speak without letting her voice waver. "I've deceived you enough."

He looked to her sharply then, and she was relieved to find his eyes were no longer the bitter shade of blue that had chilled her to the very bone. The respite was brief though, as the coldness had been forced out by a stark look of betrayal. It was the look that crept into his eyes after Dumbledore's death whenever anyone mentioned Snape's name. It aged his face a decade, but he only held her gaze a moment dropping his chin and hiding his hurt from her once more.

"Yes." He said, choking on the single word.

"Yes." She agreed. Her betrayal was irrefutable, but necessary all the same. She longed to tell him that, but knew the only answer he wanted was the one he had come here in search of. All her reasoning and justification wouldn't soothe him until she gave him what lingered in the air between them.

Why?

Oh Ron, if only she could tell him! If only he would understand! She was filled with longing, but managed to string together words in another direction.

"How did you find out?"

Her diversion was obvious, but he seemed to welcome it. He exhaled deeply, and ran an absentminded hand through his hair. The ginger locks were shorter than she had ever seen it, trimmed neatly and close to his head as was required for an Auror. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered what the ministry was doing to cope with Harry's unruly mane that never seemed to stay cropped for longer than it determined necessary. But right now, Ron was all that she could think of, and she watched intently as his hair fell back into place after his fingers passed through it. He dropped his wand on the counter-top, and it rolled a few times across the slick surface before he laid his hand on top of it to hold it still. He glanced at her as he did so, skeptical, before picking it up again defensively. Opening his coat, he placed his wand alongside hers in that oddly shaped, and yet so convenient, pocket that accompanied wizard clothing. Her own wardrobe had been devoid of such things since she had come to America, and she felt a twinge of homesickness...along with sometime else. She would have been hurt, offended that he did not trust her, one of his very oldest friends…that is, had she not been planning to snatch the wand up as soon as it sprang free of his fingers.

Yes. She meant what she had said, that she had deceived him enough. But she still wouldn't hesitate to do so again.

"Work." He grunted. "They were preparing to send our team on a mission to…on a highly classified mission."

His hesitation spoke volumes. Again, she obviously wasn't to be trusted. She bit her lip and pretended like it didn't effect her in the slightest. It was better, easier, if he hated her anyway.

"Had detection charms cast on the whole lot of us before we could be granted clearance to proceed with the details. Mainly to check and make sure that none of us were under the imperious and would give up information that might be a danger to the Ministry, but they checked for all the unforgivables." His voice was acquiring more and more of a sarcastic tone and she could feel his anger remounting as he spit the last word out as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. She was sure that his definition of what qualified as an "unforgivable" had changed since she left, and he was counting a forth spell to join the usual trio.

"I see." She murmured, lips tightening around the phrase. Let her be an unforgivable. Let him loathe her. As long as it meant he would leave. As long as it meant he would stay away…this time.

"No you don't. You didn't. You didn't see any of it, Hermione, because you weren't there. You haven't been there, not for any of us, not in three years." He seethed at her, his voice dangerously quiet. She said nothing, it was all true. He picked back up as though not interrupted. "They took us into different chambers to perform the charms, and put up wards that would dissolve once the reading came back that we were free from spells."

She knew what was coming next, knew how the story he was telling would conclude even more than even he did. She knew it all, the what, the why…the who. And she knew better than to hope for a happy ending. It wouldn't be, and she had been fooling herself for years to ever even hope for one. But this time she would be strong, and she mentally prepared herself to make it through the storm that was brewing inside him, one that was surely to be unleashed at full force upon her. He was looking at her again now, eyes narrowed and dangerous, and with a cool aloofness she made herself meet his gaze without tears. Those had stopped now, and determination was slowly replacing her overwhelming sorrow.

"Everyone's wards wore off quickly, and they gathered at headquarters to begin the briefing. That is, all except one. Do you want to guess who that lone person was Hermione?"

She spoke quietly, levelly. "Why are you doing this Ron? Why do-"

And that was all it took.

"WHY!"

And finally, the word they had both been dancing around, the one they had both been too scared to say, was out in the open. The mention of it snapped the flood gates holding back his fury, and as his volume rose she felt her temper do the same.

"You are the last person in the world who is allowed to ask me why!" He shouted.

"Don't you dare tell me what I am or am not_ allowed_ to do Ronald! We aren't in school and I can make my own decisions now, my life doesn't revolve around you anymore!"

(But of course it did. Of course it always had.)

"Yeah, you made sure of that, didn't you? You know, if you wanted me out of your life there were other ways to go about it. Do you have any idea what it was like, sitting in that room, waiting for wards to go down and then realizing they wouldn't? Realizing that something was wrong with me?" She opened her mouth to defend herself, but he brought up a hand to stop her. "Dammit, let me finish would you! You at least owe me that, after all these years, just let me say what I need to say."

"It hasn't been years, Ron, not for you." She snarled, but he continued on as if he had not heard her. And maybe he didn't. Either way, it wouldn't make a difference.

"Once they knew I had been put under a spell they took me aside for further interrogation. Quite the scandal, it caused, Ron Weasley, war hero, being put under observation by the very men and women he had worked alongside to battle evil. I was on leave for over a week, and no one would tell me what they had found. Or rather, what they hadn't. Kingsley, the Minister of Magic himself, came to question me. A lot of bloody good that did, what with me having been _obliviated_ and all. They were able to put a time-line on it, after hours and hours of intensive casting. When it came out they discovered what you already knew, what you've known the whole time, haven't you? Found out I had about a month or two of my memory wiped and altered three years ago. Guess I don't have to tell you what else happened three years ago, do I?"

Of course he didn't, but she knew he would regardless, that he needed to. That despite all of his bravado, he was terribly lost and afraid right now, and he was clinging desperately to the fact that she had answers for him, answers that would take away all the pain and set them to rights once again.

She didn't.

"You _left_ Hermione, you left Ginny and Harry and _me_. Surely you can understand the conclusion I came to, someone obliviates me and you vanish out of our lives without so much as backwards glance. You were gone the day after I was accepted into Auror training, off to America for school. Or at least that was what you told me. God only knows what really happened…or rather, you only know. I tracked down that university in the states you claimed you had received a scholarship from, but they said they had never heard of you. I looted the ministry for any hint of you, but it was like you disappeared, right along with my memory. Smartest witch of your age, after all, aren't you? But not smart enough. It took me damn well long enough, but I've found you, haven't I?"

"Ginny?" She questioned, lifting an eyebrow as though she didn't care in the slightest how he had come to discover her.

"No." He said darkly. "No, she didn't help me. You did a bloody good job on her too. Obliviated a little more than a year ago, Kingsley said. They checked Harry as well, but you hadn't got a hold of him yet, had you?"

If she could keep her voice cold, if she could make him think she didn't care, then she could make him believe anything. She could make him believe a lie. "No reason to."

"And Ginny? What was your reason for her? Did she find you? Did she discover your dirty little secret?"

She tried not to, but she couldn't let the shiver than ran down her spine at just how accurate his guess was. She couldn't stop the vision that lit up behind her eyes, of Ginny enraged and shouting on the doorstep of her old apartment, looking just like her brother in her anger and causing quite the scene. That is, before her fiery eyes went blank and her body slack. Before Hermione did some quick spell work and damage control, before she shifted her whole life yet again, moving across the country to start another new life with a new name in a new state. Before her dream come true and worst nightmare all rolled into one showed apparated back into her life. Uninvited.

"Struck a chord with that one, didn't we?" He mused, mocking her pain. "Hit a bit too close to home, didn't it?"

"Fuck off Ronald." Her voice was deadly, and sounded as though it belonged to a stranger. It burned her mouth as she spoke and she hated the words as they flew from her lips. "Fuck you and get the hell out of my house!" She howled, stomping her foot and hearing the crunching of glass underfoot from his earlier outburst. Suddenly she was struck with an idea, a stupid, childish idea, but the only one she had. It was still there, her full tumbler, and she snatched it up from the counter in an instant and slung the liquor directly in his face like a catty girl at a bar. He cursed as it drenched him, and at once she was running, headed for the door with single-minded pursuit of escape, when she felt them.

Arms. _His_ arms, strong and safe and familiar, colliding with her waist, stopping her dead in her tracks. It was all too much, _he_ was all too much, and at the feel of his skin upon hers she was overcome. Wobbly legs gave out from under her and she felt her tired body collapse upon itself and crash into the linoleum, a vague registry to those arms tightening around to middle to keep her head from hitting the floor.

And then black.

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_Yes, yes? Or no, no? I totally made up this whole detection charms bit, I believe, so don't get too technical on that stuff...otherwise, lay it on me!_


	3. Jack

_Look who's back for round 3!_

_Not to complain...but I'm gonna complain. All you readers out there, I do __adore__ you… but if you like my story enough to favorite it, then I would h_o_pe that you like it enough to drop me a review. Just saying. Now, for all of you dear, sweet darlings who have jumped from here on over to read and drop a line or two about my other stories…you are made of gold and I adore you doubley!_

_And now I will step down off my soapbox and get on with the show. Got a little something-somethin in here for y'all, hope you enjoy!_

_I own nothing, so here we go!

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"_**We have the answer to all your fears  
It's short, it's simple, it's crystal dear"**_

Spearmint. Toothpaste.

The smell was like home and she breathed it in deeply. Her eyelids fluttered faintly at the sensation assaulting her still-woozy senses, but remained shut against the light. She must have left her curtains open, and she pressed her face into her pillow to preserve the fading darkness behind her lids. A tiny groan escaped her parted lips as felt the repercussions of moving, the aching in her body and throbbing in her head settling themselves into her slowly dawning consciousness, wiping out any lingering desire to stir from where she lay. Besides, her bed was so lovely and inviting that there could be no better remedy for the strange way she was feeling than to stay burrowed deep within its reassuring warmth. She was perfectly content to sleep away the day and let the world outside of her bedroom take care of itself, as long as she could nestle between these coarse sheets and flannel pillow, all smelling deliciously of spearmint toothpaste.

Because she had slept like this before, and it was the most marvelous…

Except her sheets weren't coarse…and her pillow wasn't flannel. She furrowed her brow with dreamy displeasure, hating her brain for analyzing things that should be left alone, but it wouldn't stop. She had trained it too well. And then everything, all the exceptions, came crashing down. Except she used cinnamon toothpaste, and avoided spearmint gum and mints and sweets at all possible costs. Except it was mid-afternoon and she was no business being asleep. Except she wasn't in bed, or even in her own room, but cradled in Ron's arms on the kitchen floor, her cheek against the soft fabric of his plaid shirt and her hands wrapped in the folds of his rough overcoat. The realization hit her hard, and her eyes flew open in shock for the shortest of moments before she forced them shut. She resisted the overwhelming urge to leap away, to grab his wand (so close within her grasp now) and put as much distance as possible between the two of them to defend herself, because there was something she desired even more than her own safety, and for that she made herself stay limp in his embrace.

Because his hands, his large, rough, _beautiful_ hands, which had thrown glasses and pointed fingers and slammed against the counter with such bitter rage, were now the epitome of tenderness. And they had begun, oh-so-gently, to stroke her hair. From her crown they drifted, softly caressing the bushy mess she had never learned to tame before tapering down to the bristled ends, and then back again. They lingered on the tendrils around her face, and she felt the briefest of touches on her cheek before his fingers delved back to trace her curls. A sob rose up inside of her and she swallowed it back down, determined not the let anything break the perfection of this moment.

"Oh Hermione." He said in a strangled whisper, and she couldn't deny the tears she heard in his voice. Was this really the same man, so full of wrath and cruel words just seconds ago, who had reduced her to a such a shattered wreck of a woman that she had crumpled at his feet? They had both been through the full spectrum of human emotion and evidently it had exhausted his fury as much as it had her spirit. Working hard to keep her breathing regulated, she bunched his coat tightly in her hands, desperate to be closer to him. He was compliant to the wishes of her seemingly-dreaming self, and pulled her in snug against his chest. He placed his chin on the top of her head, and his breath ruffled her hair when he spoke.

"You're awake, aren't you?"

So she hadn't fooled him, after all. After all those years of being nothing more than an annoying buzz in his ears, it seemed her days of being unnoticed and neglected by Ron Weasley were over. Now she had a highly trained and observant wizard to contend with, and though the shifting of tides was rather unsettling, she couldn't help but to feel a surge of pride at the man he had grown into. She didn't say a word, content to feign ignorance and sleep for even a moment longer, so great was her desperation to savor every second of having his hands in her hair and her head against his chest. It was a fleeting pleasure, though, and despite her silence she felt his fingers still their ministrations and his grip on her lighten.

And yet, though he seemed about to, he did not let go.

"This feels right." He murmured, thick with yearning. She felt it too, and had to bite her tongue to stop herself from moaning out her agreement. It did, and it was, and yet it couldn't be.

It couldn't be, and she had three years of pain to prove it. To prove that they could be apart, that she could in fact survive on her own without Ron, though she had known all along that he was capable of getting along just fine without her. These treacherous emotions muddling her rational thought process were selfish ones, childish feelings that a grown-up of twenty-two should have outgrown some time ago. She wished with what was left of her heart that he would stop talking, stop bringing up so much that she had dedicated her life to trying to forget, and just let them be two bodies entwined on a kitchen floor for reasons far less complicated. But it wasn't to be.

"What…what happened Hermione? What did I do that was so awful you had to erase my memory and run away? I know I've been dreadful to you before, but-"

She interrupted him, breaking her silence with a yelp of disbelief. "Ron! No…" This was it, this was the moment where she lied, where she made him believe that she didn't want anything to do with him, that it was his fault she left and not a dilemma of her own making. She had set her mind, her broken heart, even, on doing so, but in this instant all preconceived notions and efforts vanished away. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. "It wasn't…you didn't…oh please don't. Please don't make me answer this. Can't you just trust me? Can't you just know that it was for the best, for both of us, and let it end with that?"

As if such a thing was ever an option, as if anything between them could ever be so simple.

He ignored her plea. "I missed you. _So_ _much_. Everyday, of every year. It never got better, and it never will." He dipped his head, rubbing his stubbled cheek against her hair. "Didn't you miss me?"

The sobbing made it hard to articulate. So did the anguish. "Ron…"

"We were…together, weren't we?"

"We were only children." She told him through her tears, and her voice was desperate.

"But we were, though, weren't we? You and I?"

The sound that came from her mouth was barely a whisper. She hesitated, but couldn't bring herself to keep it from him any longer. "Only once." She admitted.

He stopped then, breathing that is. His whole body froze at her admission, and it was almost as though she could feel his turn to stone beneath her. It was then that she realized her mistake, knew that hadn't been the kind of "together" he was referring to. She wished to take it back, to spin a time-tuner for the briefest of revolutions to erase this horrid misstep, but…but then, a small part, a selfish part of her was glad it was out. That she didn't have to lie here wrapped so perfectly in his arms like she had never done so before. He moved slowly to unravel himself their embrace, his limbs working as though they had been filled heavily with lead, stuttering a bit before he spoke.

"Was it so bad then? Being with me? So terrible that you couldn't stand to face me afterwards?"

"Oh no Ron! You must believe me, it was wonderful…too wonderful…" She pressed her face into his shirt and let the fabric grow damp with her tears and muffle her words, knowing that at any moment he would push her away and she would lose her last chance to feel him against her forever

"Too wonderful? So wonderful you had to take even the memory away from me…take _yourself_ away from me?" He asked incredulously, putting his hands on her shoulders and pulling her up so that he could see tear-streaked face.

"Please, _please_ try and understand! It wasn't that, not at all! I never planned on it all turning out like this. But it all happened so quickly that night…" She gulped at the memory, the beautiful, painful memory that he did not share. "And things were dreadfully awkward after that, and we never really talked about what it meant for us, or told anyone, and then you got accepted into Auror training, and…" She gasped, heaving for breath as she felt her body shake quite violently with the force of her tears.

"And what?" He prompted, his voice softer, and almost (but not quite) sympathetic.

"And I couldn't ruin it for you."

"Ruin it? How could you ruin it for me? This is me ruined, now! I can't even imagine how that must have felt, having you and becoming an Auror…hell, all of my dreams were coming true!"

She shook her head emphatically. "No, can't you see? I would have been in the way, a distraction! Things were already so unsettled with the two of us, and I couldn't let what was happening between us hold you back from the one thing you've always wanted!"

"But Hermione, you've got it all wrong. Being an Auror was an ambition, a goal I'd set for myself and I am bloody glad to have achieved it, but it's nothing without you. You are what I've always wanted…what I still want. Can't _you_ see?"

That overwhelming sense of inadequacy flared within her once more, just as it had the night she had apparated from his flat in the dark, leaving dawn to find him alone in his bed. "How could I? You could barely look at me after, or stand to be in a room alone together, and people noticed. Harry even remarked about how odd you were acting, asked me if something had happened between you and I, but I couldn't very tell him the truth, could I? I just…you just…Ron , it was for the best. I couldn't stand to be something you regretted."

"_Hermione_…" He clutched at her, moving a hand to press against either side of her face as if he were scared that if he let her out of his sight she would vanish away again. His mouth moved but no other sound came out, and a slight moisture seemed to be gathering in his eyes. She leaned into his touch, consequences be damned, and had just turned her cheek ever so slightly to press her lips against his palm when she heard it.

An ordinary sound, a comforting one even, most of the time. Just the jangle of keys at the door and the click and turn of the knob. She didn't know how much time had passed since she had come home to find Ron waiting impatiently outside her door, or how long she had been lost in dreamless sleep here on the floor, but it had been longer than she hoped. Because there it was, this ordinary sound, this comforting sound coming closer, but now it filled her with dread. Her eyes opened wide in fear and locked with his, pleading with his gaze not to turn and face the source of their distraction. She longed to mimic his motions, to hold in face still in her hands, but she couldn't seem to force her arms into movement, and after that everything seemed to proceed in slow motion. Footsteps, tiny footsteps, echoed on the cheap flooring in the hall, tearing around the corner and came skidding to a stop before them. His voice, his beautiful voice, so much his own and yet just as possessive as his fathers, broke the silence abruptly.

"Who are you? And why did you make my mummy cry?"

* * *

_There you go, does that clear up any of the mystery for you? A bit cliché, I know, but I blame it on KARIANN1222 and that lovely fic of hers HALLOWED HEARTS, making me start thinking about babies and all that…_


	4. Chivas

_You guys…you're beautiful, you know that?_

_The reviews for last chapter simply made my week, and I owe it to all to you! I was dreading writing this (not really sure where to go), but all your kind words made my fingers itch to get on a computer, and somehow it came to me a lot easier than I had feared. That, and the ice storm that has kept me home from work these past two days. Hope #4 is sufficient!_

_I own nothing, except the warm fuzzies I get from reviews!

* * *

_

"_**O Children, **_

_**Lift up your voice,**_

_**Lift up your voice"**_

She didn't know where he picked it up, the whole "mummy" bit. He had spent every one of his three years in America, and didn't even have a hint of a British accent. The word certainly wasn't something he heard on a day to day basis, other than from herself of course, but she was only one person. He was surrounded by Americans otherwise, and none of his classmates understood what he was saying. Multiple times she had seen a frightened toddler or two look about for a man bound in ragged linen when he had cried out "Mummy, look at me!" from the top of the slide at the park. They teased him for using such a funny word, having a rather ardent fondness of the vowel "o" in her opinion, but none of this did anything to phase the little guy. Hermione was Hugo's mummy, and no one could tell him otherwise.

He was like that sometimes, incredibly headstrong as only a little boy could be, and it seemed like this (this terrible, beautiful moment) was going to be one of those instances. His porcelain forehead was developing tiny furrows almost comical in their shallowness as he attempted to knit his brow in frustration, lower lip puckering up as well. Hugo hated not being in on the know, and would do anything in his power to make his desire to be included heard. It was the same reason he hated to go to bed before she did, this desperation not to miss out on the secret lives of grown-ups, certainly full of terribly exciting adventures kept hidden from children. She noticed his miniature fists curl themselves into balls at his sides and knew a tantrum in the making when she saw one.

"Mum-my!" He said again, stomping one foot on the ground as she leapt to her own feet. Paige had reached the kitchen now, her own son propped on her hip with his thumb in his mouth, a habit Hermione was desperately glad her own boy hadn't picked up from his playmate. The blond woman, not much more than a girl herself, wore a typically exhausted expression, identifiable with single working mothers everywhere. Her body, mind and spirit were beat after a long shift of unappreciated labor, coupled with her turn carpooling two tireless little boys home from daycare. The key to Hermione's place dangled on the key ring she still held in hand, and she was about to scold Hugo for running away before she could get his muddy shoes off of him when her weary eyes finally landed on Ron. Hermione had managed to extricate herself from his lap now, but she was sure they two of them still looked a sight. Paige's eyes widened and she raised an eyebrow, but did not comment on the proximity of the two. In the year that "Hannah" and her and been neighbors, she had never seen the proper British girl so much as glance at a man, leaving her friend confused and with no choice but to ogled them twice as hard for the both of them. But now, judging from the furious blush igniting her cheeks, Paige had a good idea why she wasn't interested in their (gorgeous) mailman.

"Sorry about the mess, "She said with a, gesturing to the trail of footprints Hugo had left from the front door to where he stood now, "they managed to jump in every puddle from the school to my car today. Boys." She said with a shrug, attempting a smile at Ron, who seemed completely oblivious to her presence. Paige subtly noted the hue of his hair with no visible change in her demeanor, and knew exactly where she had seen it before.

"Boys." Hannah/Hermione agreed, swooping down on Hugo and lifting his muddy feet off the floor. His temper quickly subsided as she hoisted him up into the air and pressed her lips against the bright red softness of his hair, breathing in deeply the scent of crayons and mud and little boy (and trying to breathe out that dizzying spearmint smell). He giggled as she plopped him on the counter, delighting in being allowed to sit in such an unconventional location. Hermione busied herself with cleaning him up, her back to the man who remained inert on the floor, staring open-mouthed at the domesticity of the pair in front of him.

"Look at me Brandt! I'm up high!" Hugo exclaimed, wiggling his toes in the air as Hermione pulled the wet socks off his feet and threw them in the sink.

"I wanna go high too!" The other boy pouted, pulling his thumb from his lips with an audible pop and stretching his arms out towards the other mother.

Paige rolled her eyes, though no one noticed the gesture but herself. 'Boys' was right. "Oh no mister, there's only one place you're going, and that is in the tub!"

Brandt and Hugo shared a look of terror. There was nothing worse than having to get clean, when they had only just gone to all the trouble of getting dirty! Paige's son tried to wiggle out of her grasp, but she held on to him with practiced precision and began to back out of the room.

"See ya later." She said, not offended when the stranger did not offer so much as a wave in her direction. Pretending to understand guys was something she gave up on about the time she had a little man of her own.

"Bye. Thanks." Hermione called over her shoulder, her eyes catching Paige's to communicate a look that left no doubt that her appreciation was for more than just bringing her son home.

"No problem." She replied, and her tone contained nothing but genuine friendliness. She was sympathetic to her neighbor's plight, much moreso than some might be. This looked like some baby daddy drama if she had ever seen it, and having had to deal with her fair share of the stuff, she wished Hannah all the best. It was kind of weird, though, that the man was still sitting on the floor and everything…Oh well, Brandt's father wasn't exactly a stand-up guy either. She snickered at her own humor and locked the door of apartment 2340 behind her, pushing thoughts of gossip away for later as the matter of her son's washing and feeding commanded the full use of her attention now.

"I splashed in ten puddles." Hugo said matter-o-factly, holding up ten stubby little fingers for Hermione to see as she rinsed his feet off under the facet and patted them dry with a dish cloth.

"Is that so…" She murmured back, her mind in another place entirely. Ron had still yet to move, and the terrified anticipation of what he would do if and when he finally did was driving her crazy.

"Yes. Brandt can't jump as high as I can. His splashes were small."

"Really." She scratched little flecks of dirt off his pants with her fingernail. There was nothing left to do now, nothing but to turn and face Ron. She cringed at the thought. What would he say? How could she explain?

It was true, all of everything she had said in that surreal moment on the kitchen floor. It _was_ wonderful, and she _didn't_ want to ruin his future, and she _couldn't_ be something he regretted. She hoped he could understand, wanted him to see that she meant every word with all of her heart. It was too much though, surely, judging from the look of him now. For everything that had happened in the past three years to hit him all at once…the vacant look on his face was understandable. It hurt, but that sensation was something she had gotten used to by now.

She had been ready to have it out with him that night, had drawn upon every bit of her Gryffindor courage and made up her mind not to come back home until they had talked through the whole ruddy mess that they had made of what happened between them. But her timing was terrible, and when she apparated to his flat everyone (_everyone)_ was already there. The place was a wreck and full of people in such a tizzy about Harry and his early admission into the prestigious program that she didn't even have time to let her feelings get hurt about him not telling her straight-away. He had blushed when she congratulated him, pulled her aside from the celebration and into the hall to say something, probably one of his blundering apologies that made her knees go all wobbly and her senses fuzzy, but she hadn't let him start. She had made up her mind on the spot to leave this place when she had walked in and found out about Ron's acceptance, as soon as she saw the light in his eyes dim and turn to hesitation when he spotted her. And all this she had settled on even before she knew out about Hugo! It mattered little though, for when she did, it only reinforced the necessity of her decision. Ron needed to pursue what was best for him, for his career, and a bossy, love-struck girl with bushy hair and scars on her heart wasn't it.

And now, with this beautiful little body so snug in her arms, nothing could make her regret what she had done. Even the man she (still, couldn't stop it, kept her up at night thinking about how badly she-) loved.

"I suppose you'll be staying for dinner." She asked the figure on her floor, as indifferently as she could manage to, though truly, nothing had ever sounded as absurd to her own ears as those words.

Food had always had a resounding affect on Ron, and at the mention of it he blinked. With that the spell he was under was broken, and he jolted back to reality and his feet with the agility of a man poised for battle. And maybe he was. His neck, what little of it she could see peeking out from his coat, was already beginning to turn flush, a tell-tale sign of his temper re-igniting itself.

"Please Ron, don't." She asked him in a whisper, placing her hand protectively over the boy she held. "Don't yell, not in front of Hugo."

He gasped at the name, letting out a choked breath he hadn't known he was holding. "H-Hugo?" He managed to say, his mind churning with the flurry of information an implications he had been bombarded with.

"Yes. This is Hugo, my…son. Say hello, Hugo." She prompted, pressing her face against his smaller one and nudging his cheek with her nose.

"Hello." The little boy said defiantly, examining the new face before him as Ron nodded his head mutely in reply. Hermione held her breath as they sized each other up, terrified of what might come if either found the other lacking. She felt her son twist in her arms.

"You have pumpkin hair, just like me." Hugo told the strange man, reaching out and up to pat the top of Ron's head just in case he didn't understand what the boy meant.

Silence, so unbearably loud and thick that she felt as though she would shatter from the weight of it, pressed against their strange trio from all sides. Breathing was out of the question, and what little air she had managed to gather in her lungs was quickly lost from its hiding place somewhere deep inside her chest. She would surely faint from this, from all of this, and just as her vision started to blur around the periphery, a most beautiful sound caught her attention and brought her back to awareness

"Yeah…you're right. I do."

And at that, at the _magnificent, tremendous _look of wonder on Ron's freckled face, the way his eyes filled with tears and his mouth drew up in that dreamy half-smile, and how Hugo gave him one _so perfectly similar _in return, she felt her heart twist and tumbled over itself in a surge of gratitude that she could neither explain nor control. It was a beautiful thing, she knew, and something she would cherish for all of her life, this glorious moment when she thanked the Lord above that Hugo had been blessed enough to inherit tresses of the trademark Weasley red from Ginny… instead of getting Harry's black hair.

* * *

_Hmmm…_


	5. Jameson

_I don't know what has gotten into me, writing this thing. Chapters and angst, oh my!_

_I really am much more of a lover of fluff than this story would suggest. So I'm going to sneak a little bit of that in here. Hope that's okay with all of you!_

_I own nothing, but that much should be obvious by now._

* * *

"_**Hey, little train! Wait for me!**_

_**I once was blind**_

_**but now I see"**_

She wasn't much of a cook, never had been. Their steady consumption of those awful mushrooms while on the run was a testament to that. Things had improved a bit since then, at least where the fungus was concerned, but not by much. Living on her own she had picked up a few more recipes, nothing more than a sandwich or casserole, but luckily toddlers did not possess the most delicate of palates. Ron lifted an eyebrow as she opened the refrigerator, and she wouldn't help but to break into a smile. Little did he know, she could whip up a mean macaroni and cheese now.

"We could always order in, you know." He said, taking Hugo's sippy cup from her after she filled it with milk, and screwing the top on securely.

"Do they deliver to the ministry now? My, things really have changed since I've been gone…"

As soon as the sentence left her lips, she felt the potential it held for taking the conversation down an ugly path. But somehow, Ron seemed numb to its barbed edges, and she felt his easy contentment bleeding into her own mood. Not to say that her heart wasn't pounding, because it was, and though she felt her pulse throb in her ears, it was the familiar, nervous anticipation she used to feel whenever he was in the same room when they were so much younger. It, this, them, him...they were all too seamlessly falling into place to stay that way, but she decided to ignore the logic in that reasoning. Something about the extra presence in the room smoothed over so many things left unsaid, healing long-open wounds like only the innocence of a child could. Though maybe an hour ago Ron would have responded to her by shouting, instead he simply rolled his eyes good-naturedly, passing the cup to tiny, up stretched hands.

"I resent that! I know a thing or two about the muggle world, even have a-" he fished around in his pants pocket, "cell phone now!"

"The question is, do you know how to use it?" She said mockingly, pulling out the cheese and butter to set on the counter, alongside the box of noodles she had taken from the pantry.

He ducked his head, fiddling with the screen on the rectangular object in his hand. "Sure. Kinda…no, not really. Bought it out of curiosity, mostly. It's nice and shiny. Mainly just use it to talk to Harry and Percy, though."

At the mention of the name, she cocked her head in surprise. "Percy?"

"Yeah, that's where I've been picking up on the non-magical way of life. He's engaged to a muggle now, the wedding is this spring. Her name's Audrey."

'Really? Well that's nice. What's she like?"

"Way too good for him." He said with a laugh. "But then again, who isn't? You need some help with that?"

She was filling the saucepan with water using one hand while turning on the stove-top with the other. "Thanks, but I've got kind of a system down." A non-magical one, she wondered if he noticed. She did her best not to practice spells around her son. Speaking of- "However, if you would keep Hugo-"

"From losing a toe?" Ron jumped between the boy and the broken glass he was eying dangerously. "Yeah, I'm right on it. Where do you keep your broom?" He asked, grabbing a few paper towels and laying them on the ground to soak up any whiskey which hadn't concealed into a sticky mess already.

"I'll show you." Hugo said, grabbing Ron's hand and leading him towards the closet. Hermione's heart jumped into her throat at the sight of their clasped hands, ignoring the water as it overflowed the pot she was filling. They looked so perfect together, like a real…

Family.

"Are you sure you can handle that broom? It doesn't fly you know." She teased as they came back armed with a full barrage of cleaning supplies.

"Hardy-har-har." He chuckled, sweeping up the shards into a pile with ease.

"I wanna help!" Hugo exclaimed, grabbing the dustpan and stepping too close to the glass for comfort.

"No!" Both of the adults shouted in unison. Ron dropped the broom he held to lift the boy off his feet and out of danger's way.

They froze, all three of them. Hermione burnt her hand on the stove, unable to tear her eyes from the pair, but the pain scarcely registered as her heart threatened to beat violently out of her chest. Ron's arms shook visibly, though it was hardly from the weight of the child he supported so deftly, and Hugo peered warily down at the distance he was from the ground, before breaking into a grin. His mummy was definitely not this tall!

Tentatively, Ron put a gentle hand on Hugo's head. "You have to be careful, little one. That glass will cut you." He said in a small voice, one that reminded her of long-ago days spent on bed-rest in a cottage by the sea. And he began to stroke _that_ hair now, with a tenderness and familiarity that made the scene seem all too real.

"Sawry." The child answered, quite amiable and not pulling away in the least from the stranger's embrace as his mother would have expected.

When Hermione finally spoke, her voice cracked a bit. "Hugo, why don't you show…Ron, where your room is and get some clean socks and shoes on? I'll go ahead and clean this mess up for you guys."

"O-tay. It's down there." He pointed down the hall with determination, and Ron ruffled his hair affectionately, in exactly the same way she had always done. Their two ginger heads bobbed away from her as they headed towards the bedroom, and she was certain she had never seen anything so lovely.

Rinsing her burned hand under the cold water, she looked around absentmindedly for her wand to straighten up magically before remembering it was still in Ron's coat pocket. She set to work the muggle way instead, just as Ron had attempted, her heart thudding as she swept and mopped.

Was it wrong, what she was doing?

After all, she had never _told_ Ron Hugo was his son…but he had never asked. It would be naïve of her to deny that she knew exactly what conclusions he had jumped to though, and she had done nothing to set him straight.

It seemed a redundant subject to bring up, given all the facts. That they had been intimate and she had left shortly after for fear of ruining his future and had taken his memory of what happened with her…not to mention the fact that she now had a little boy whose hair matched Ron's exactly. It all seemed to point to an answer so obvious it waived the need to voice it aloud.

And yet it wasn't the truth. But maybe it could be.

She had been packing, if you could even call it that, when Ginny came to her that night, dropping in through the fireplace using the floo which connected their homes. The party at Ron and George's had drug on to the late hours of the night, but Hermione had come home early and had the flat she shared with Luna to herself. She couldn't take much with her when she left, since she had little more than a vague idea of where she was going, and all of what little property she could lay claim to was scattered about her small bedroom.

"You're already leaving?" Ginny questioned as she took a seat on what little mattress space remained uncluttered, eyes looking more empty than Hermione could ever remember seeing them. It was a feeling she felt resonated in her own.

"Yes…classes start right-away in America. The approval of my scholarship was delayed, and I've only just received notice. Very last minute." She rambled, a flick of her wand sending socks flying to a duffle bag. Strange how easily it came to her, lying through her teeth.

"Oh."

Hermione breathed in deeply, trying to appear as though she weren't absolutely terrified. Which, of course, she was. "It's been quite a day, hasn't it?"

Ginny gave a lifeless little smile, running her fingers down the cracked spine of a well-loved copy of 'Hogwarts: A History' lying on top of several jumpers. "Quite." She agreed.

"You…you must be very proud of them. For getting into the program and all."

Ginny looked at her sharply, incredulously even, "Yes, just as I would think you must be."

The words hung in the air between them like a poisonous mist, bridging the gap between the two girls and readily infecting the room with its subtle toxicity. Any forced, false pleasantries were killed instantly. Hermione felt decidedly uncomfortable in her own skin, and desperately she itched to get away, far from the unnerving candor of her friend's scrutiny.

"I am." She replied, but the words sounded strained even to her own ears. The redhead snorted and dropped her eyes.

"I'm pregnant." Ginny said bluntly, drawing up her knees and wrapping her arms tightly around herself.

Hermione immediately let go of her wand in shock, her hands flying to cover her gaping mouth as her mind spun with the information. Guilt settled heavily in the pit of her stomach, and an ugly conscience reared its head.

What had she been thinking! She was Ginny's closest friend, her sister for all intents and purposes, really...except that she hadn't been. Not lately at least, or else she would have been there for her long before things had gotten to this point, but she had been so wrapped up in whatever was going on between Ron and herself that she had put too much distance between the two of them. She rushed to her side, embracing the girl she loved tightly.

"Harry?"

"Doesn't know." Ginny's voice was monotone.

"Oh Ginny. He…he loves you, you must know that. You should tell him."

The body in her arms remained unresponsive to her touch. "And Ron loves you. But look, you're the one leaving."

"That's different." She said curtly, drawing back.

"How so? You two are just as much in love as Harry and I- and don't try to deny it."

"I do love Ron, how could I not? He's one of my best friends…just like you and Harry and Ne-"

"Bollocks!" Incensed, Ginny jumped off the bed, drawing herself up to her full height in front of Hermione's seated form. "Don't you dare, my brother loves you madly, and I _know_ you feel exactly the same way, even if you both are so bloody stubborn that you insist on dancing around the issue like you were still in fourth year. So don't you dare tell me that I should face this, when you are the one who is running away!"

"Ron loves me the same way he loves you…like a sister."

Ginny's face scrunched together in confusion at Hermione's statement. "Of course he doesn't! Everyone knows that something happened between you, it's plain as day to anyone, except the both of you evidently!"

"Ron loves me like a sister." She continued unfazed, her face perfectly composed as though Ginny hadn't spoken. "And I've made sure he has no reason to feel otherwise." Reaching across her scattered possessions, she picked her wand back up with care and placed it securely in her lap.

The face above her blanched in recognition. "Oh."

"Yes." She let the single word hang in the air between them, as the enormity of what Hermione was willing to do, of what she had already done, sank in.

Ginny sighed deeply. "I have another year left at Hogwarts…and you know Harry would never go off to training and leave me alone with a baby, no matter how badly he's always wanted this. Same as Ron, they're just too damn chivalrous. That's why you're doing it, aren't you? Leaving him so he doesn't have to leave you?"

The words rang true, hitting the exhausted older girl hard as she struggled to hold the gaze of the woman whose eyes were the same as that shy little redhead she had met on platform 9 ¾ so long ago.

"Hermione, I don't know what to do. Please don't leave me, not yet. I need your help…" Ginny sunk back on the mattress and rested her head against her friend's shoulder. Hermione reached up to put an arm around her small shoulders.

"Don't worry Gin. We'll fix this, I promise."

* * *

_And now I'm all giggly…"It's a great day to be great." Go Pack Go!_


	6. Crown

_Trying to get down to the nitty-gritty with these two. Let the show-down start._

_I own nothing. Not even Hugo's sandals._

* * *

**_"Have you left a seat for me?_**_**  
**_**_Is that such a stretch of the imagination?"_**

Hermione kept her word. It wasn't her fault Ginny didn't.

The secret she had kept for much too long weighed upon her already-strained shoulders, and she grasped the handle of the mop tightly for support. Hugo banged about in his room, slamming the closet door and issuing the distinctive 'thud' of jumping off his bed, but she was deaf to all things except the flood of emotion raging inside of her. How had it all happened like this? How had she ended up here, keeping other people's secrets and raising someone else's child as though her were her own, _loving_ him as though he were too? And where did Ron factor into all of this? How had he become the reason for her leaving to being utterly uninvolved in the path her life had taken?

She wondered (and not for the first time), if she had not done it, if she hadn't hid her wand behind her back when he took her into the hallway to speak to her in private, if she hadn't said those horrible words when he wasn't looking, if she hadn't told him to go back inside and rejoin the party when he stared back at her with those blank, beautiful blue eyes...what then? If she had never planned to leave the country, if Ginny hadn't come to her that night, would she have kept the baby? Would Harry and Ron still have become Aurors? How would that life have looked?

Ron could never have kept the secret from his best mate, but she often entertained such a fantasy. Again and again she had revisited it through the years, replaying the daydream until it was as comfortable and easy to slip inside as her favorite frayed dressing gown. What if they had run away together? Where would their lives have led them if they decided to raise his nephew as though he were their own?

Her heart sped up as the familiar visions played themselves out in the secret place hidden in the back of her mind. So close, here it was, all she had ever wanted, and all she had to do was bite her tongue and she might have it.

She had her chance, but just how far was she willing to go to take it?

But then again, when she had already gone this far off the edge of the mountain, what was another running leap into oblivion?

She had only meant to toe the edge though, when she started this...whatever this was. She hadn't meant to take it as far as it had everything had ended up going. In the beginning, keeping Ginny's secret was almost nice. It was, above all else, something to keep her mind off of missing Ron. Almost, because nothing other than the imperius curse could truly stop his face from haunting her every thought, and almost because the word 'missing' didn't even come close to describing the agony she felt when she lay alone in bed at night and could all but hear his voice in the deafening silence.

So she re-evaluated her priorities, and eliminated that time wasted in trying to find sleep which never seemed to come, and instead focused every moment (in between creating this new life for herself or obscuring her old one) with filling her head with strategies and plans and lies and secrets. She would have felt almost as though she were hunting Horcruxes again, had she not been so horribly and resoundingly alone this time. But it worked, kind of, and if she needed rest then her body would simply give out on top of the books she clung to so desperately, kindly supplying a page to cushion her cheek upon. At least she still had her books, the only constant in a life that was spinning wildly out of her control.

Besides, sleep was such a waste when there were a hundred problems that needed her attention, anyway. Apparating in Ginny's condition was out of the question, as was having Hermione's minuscule efficiency in America connected to the floo network when she was supposed to be stuffed away in a dorm room studying. A rendezvous in Hogsmeade had to suffice, though meetings were few and far between. The passage into the Hogshead had been sealed up tight after the battle, leaving only regularly scheduled school visits as their only option. Carrying Harry Potter's first-born child did not earn one quite the privileges expected…that is, when one was trying desperately to conceal the fact that such a child existed. The morning (evening and night) sickness did not go unnoticed, and finding a charm to illusion Ginny's ever-expanding stomach grew more and more difficult as she advanced into her third trimester. And then there was the issue of the delivery. Despite the hours that Hermione spent combing through medical journals, for the first time in her life she had to admit there were some things you just couldn't learn from a book.

The Christmas holidays would bring her to almost forty weeks, and they worked feverishly to ready themselves for the child's arrival. If Hogwarts believed Ginny was going home to the Burrow, and everyone at the Burrow thought she was visiting Hermione in America, then no one would suspect she was actually inside some busy European muggle hospital under a pseudonym, lying nervously in a bed while her shaking hands clutched at Hermione's as they waited for her labor to be induced.

"RAWR!" A loud squeal of adorable ferociousness erupted from across the room, and the noise brought Hermione out of her memories.

Thankfully.

Hugo came running towards her as fast as his little legs would carry him, hands curled into claws and pearly white teeth bared less-than viciously while he continued to growl at her. Launching himself at her leg, he clung to her limb tightly, playing a game she was very much well-acquainted with.

"Eek, do I have a dinosaur on me?" his mother responded in mock-terror, shaking her leg in a feeble attempt to rid herself of the beast. "Oh no, a big T-Rex has got my leg!" Looking down at her attacker, she immediately noticed the shoes he had donned, and laughed in spite of the fact that she was supposedly terrified. "Ron, its November! You can't put him in _sandals_!"

He ran a hand through that hair of his, "Yeah, yeah, but those were the ones he _wanted_ to wear. I mean, how was I supposed to tell him no? And besides, I put socks on him…to keep his toes warm?"

She rolled her eyes at the sight of her son wearing a thick pair of socks underneath his vibrantly colored dinosaur sandals. "He can be quite persuasive, I'll sympathize with you on that. You would have to have the emotional ability of Snape not to be plied by that pout."

Ron lifted his sheepish eyes and clapped his hands triumphantly as an untarnished memory brought itself back into being. "So what you're saying is that I actually have feelings now? I guess _someone_ doesn't have the emotional rage of a teaspoon anymore, then, do they!"

She couldn't help but to laugh with him at the recollection of her juvenile outburst. "Don't get ahead of yourself there. You still were outsmarted by a three-year old! He's just a child, you know, and you've got to learn how to hold your ground with him or he'll walk all over you!"

In an instant, as though someone has splashed ice water over his head, his face became solemn. "Do I?"

The change in his voice caught her off guard. Then she realized what she was implying with those words and the smirk left her mouth as well. To say such things indicated that there would be another occasion for Hugo to ply Ron with his big eyes and quivering lower lip, that there was a future where…

But she didn't know what the future looked like, so she dealt with this the way she had grown accustomed to.

She ignored it.

"Would you mind setting the table?"

"Yes, actually, I would." He said, flatly. "Hugo, go wash your hands for dinner, please."

The boy looked up from his mother in astonishment. "But I-"

"Now, Hugo." His voice left no room for argument.

"Mum?"

Hermione swallowed, hard. "It's okay love. Just wash up really well, okay?"

He eyed them both warily, and let go of her leg with hesitation. It was obvious that even the toddler could feel the tension between them. But he was a Weasley boy, through and through, and he always obeyed his mother…eventually.

He felt Ron fidgeting beside her, but she resisted the urge to turn to him. Instead she kept her eyes trained on her son as he made his way to the bathroom, dragging his feet as he went. Every few steps he would turn around to glance back at her, his eyes narrowed and suspicious, but she was there ready with a smile. A strained one, albeit. But that vanished from her face when she heard the man next to her speak.

"I want a second chance."

"What?" She asked in surprise, head snapping from Hugo's retreating form to Ron's face. He was gripping the edge of the counter, knuckles white and his face stretched tight with anxiety. He looked exactly how she felt, and made that unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach tumble painfully. She had been expecting anger, yelling, accusations…but not a plea for permission.

"I know you think you were looking out for me, and I know you think you did the right thing taking him away from me, but you didn't. You can bluff and shout and throw spells around to try and convince me otherwise all you want, but it isn't going to change my mind or anything else about this situation. Because for once in your life Hermione Granger, you were completely and totally wrong about something-about _everything_."

Disbelief crowded her mind, and she struggled to speak, to put into words something that would refute him, but nothing came to her. "Ron…" she all but implored, but he didn't seem to hear her. He kept speaking, his voice lowered for Hugo's benefit, but the passion in his tone steadily rising with every word he gave utterance.

"Absolutely bloody wrong. God, you have to see it don't you? You have to realize what you've done here, the damage you've caused to everyone involved! You can't just play around with people's lives here, Hermione, it isn't up to you to decide what, what..."

"What is for the greater good?" she whispered, the old adage like vinegar on her tongue.

He looked at her sharply then, his blue eyes clear and piercing, and in that moment she felt as though they were teenagers locked inside that musty old tent again, and all the emotion they had shared in those bitter months pass silently between then. She was sure he felt it too, for when he spoke his voice was resolute.

"I can't forgive you, not yet, not for what you did...but I'm not going to let you walk away again."

She wished he would, but as much as she knew she needed to, she wasn't sure she could anymore.

"This whole...gods, _this_. I don't know what else you could call it, this thing that you've done, but it's a mess, a bloody horrible catastrophe. I was ready to hate you, you know? When I found out where you were, I came fully prepared to tell you to go to hell and then go back about my life, content in spending the rest of my life convincing myself you weren't worth it."

Because she wasn't.

"But I was wrong."

No, he wasn't.

"I can't do that, Hermione, because it would be a lie, and between the two of us, I think we've had enough of those to last us a lifetime. I can't turn my back on you, on either of you. I, We _have_ to try and fix this, or at least give it a shot to see if there is anything left to be fixed. Because there has to be. I could be there for you, both of you. I know I've missed so much already, but I don't want to miss another moment in your lives. I want us to be together, all of us."

Moisture pooled in her eyes. "Ron, it's not that simple."

"I never said it would be. Besides, when has _anything_ ever been simple concerning you and I?"

She gave him a sad smile, acknowledging the truth in his words. "We have our own lives now Ron. You in Wizarding England and Hugo and I here in muggle America. They don't intersect, they can't.

"Why can't they?"

"Don't do that." She said, clenching her fists at her side.

"Do what?"

"Oversimplify this, all of this. Don't act like we could work, like you can just drop everything and-"

"I know it wouldn't be simple, haven't you been listening to a damn thing I've said?" He slammed his fist against the counter again, and the noise it made caught them both off guard. Simultaneously, they both swung their heads around to peer in the direction of the bathroom door. Faintly, they could still hear the sound of running water, and when Ron turned to face her again, his expression was ashamed.

"Hermione..." He rushed to her, reaching as though to grasp her shoulders but pulling away at the last moment, his fingertips trailing through the air. She longed to mimic his actions, to wrap his hands in her own and hold on for dear life, but held back. "I would do whatever it takes to be a part of your lives, because I want this Hermione, more than _anything_, do you understand? I want you, and I want Hugo, and I want us. No matter what."

"Ron, you don't even know what that means! You don't even know if there could be an us!"

"But I'm willing to try. Are you?"

Ginny shot up to a sitting position, her blood pressure monitor spiking with the surge of activity. Hermione, who had been curled up in the chair at her bedside and attempting to fight he exhaustion which consumed her very being, was brought out of her half-awake, half-asleep fog by the noise. Groggily, she jumped to her feet, rushing to her friend's side.

"Ginny, what is it?"

"I can't." Her face was expressionless.

"What? What do you mean? Is something wrong, is the baby okay? Should I get a nurse?"

"I can't do it."

"Do what? Do this? But women have babies everyday, of course you can do it! Are you feeling alright, have your contractions quickened? Ginny, I'm going to go get the nurse, you need-"

From her hospital bed, she reached out just as Hermione turned to leave and latched onto her arm with a steely grip. "No, don't go. Please, you have to listen. I can't give my baby to a stranger."

"What? What are you talking about, I thought we had this all sorted?"

"I…I just can't! I can't bear the thought of strangers raising my baby! What if they are horrible, like Harry's aunt and uncle? There are too many terrible people out there, and I have to know he's safe!"

Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion. "Ginny…what are you saying? Do you want to keep the baby?"

"No, I still don't think I could do that, not now at least. But you…Hermione, you have to take care of him. I need you to take my baby."

* * *

_This chapter is actually the first part of what was previously the last chapter. I did a little editing, some tweaking here and there, trying to make Ron's feelings a little more understandable. I don't know if I succeeded, but go ahead and have a looksee and tell me what you think!_


	7. Virginia Gentleman

_Don't get excited now, this isn't an actual update._

_I was reading over this story and found that I was very unhappy with how rushed the ending was. Plus, from some of the reviews I received I don't think people really understood what I was trying to do with the dynamics of R/Hr in this story. So I basically just extended the last chapter into 2, and most of the editing takes place in the previous chapter. So same stuff, same ending, just with a few extra words thrown in the mix._

_And so it's time to bid adieu…_

_I have enjoyed you guys enjoying this little figment of my imagination immensely, probably a little too much for me to have my priorities in line. Which, of course, they aren't. But no one is judging here, are they? You are all lovely and the reviews and kind words have made me smile. A lot. So thanks, and hope you enjoy the final installment of this there story!_

_I own nothing, but...yeah, that's all I got._

* * *

"_**I'm hanging in there, don't you see  
In this process of elimination"**_

Trying.

It was what she had been doing for so long, trying to get by, trying to make this work...and yet now it seemed like everything she had been trying to accomplish since Ginny had said those fateful words was for nothing. Her attempts at secrecy, at another life had failed her, and here she was, back at the beginning. Because there, in the beginning, it had always been (would always be) Ron.

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to push the still-raw memory of that night in the hospital away. If she had had any idea what Ginny's request would have meant for her in the long run, she sometimes doubted whether or not she would have complied.

But then she looked at him, at _her_ child, and she knew without any doubt her answer would have been the same, again and again one hundred times over, no matter what the consequences were.

She drew a shaky breath. "Sometimes trying isn't enough. We aren't at Hogwarts any longer, you know. This is real life, with real consequences."

"I think we are both very, very, aware of that, Hermione." He said quietly, eyes wide and imploring.

"What I mean is, if you…if we were to…Ron, this isn't a decision to take lightly. Hugo deserves more than to have you jump into his life today and out of it next year. He's...he's my life now, you aren't the one I'm worried about protecting any longer."

"I wouldn't do that Hermione. Not to him and not to you. I know you deserve more than that, you deserve more than me…but...but- I love you, both of you. I don't know why, I never have, but I still do, and nothing you've done or ever could do would change that a bit. It probably should have, if I wasn't such a-"

She took the smallest of steps and the gap between them disappeared. Hopefully, for forever.

Because his lips, on hers, felt like forever.

She had almost started to feel normal again. As normal as a witch who had been through what she had could ever be, that is. She had a routine, and it was comfortable. She had acquaintances, never friends, no, but people she could smile at when their paths crossed at work or daycare. And most importantly, she had a son. A beautiful, happy healthy boy whose green eyes were melting into a shade of hazel which almost looked blue and could make her heart constrict in agony and swell with pride all at the same time. She had a life, and she was doing her best at living it.

But then, in an instant, that was shattered.

"Ginny, stop it. You are making a scene!" She glanced into the street, nervously eying the bystanders who were throwing suspicious looks at the two young women engaged in a heated argument on the shabby door front. Roughly, she grabbed Ginny's arm and pulled her inside, out of prying eyes.

The younger girl snatched her arm back. "I don't care, I'll scream and I'll yell and I'll make a scene, Hermione. I'll make one hell of a scene until you give me my son back!"

"Do you have any idea of what you are saying? You didn't want him! You begged me to take him, knowing very well how much I was struggling to just take care of myself, let alone a child! But I did it, and I went through hell and back for you, because you are my friend and I love you and Harry both very much."

"Yes, and I appreciate it," she said in a voice that implied this wasn't the truth, "but Harry is out of training now, and I'm ready to bring our baby home."

Her outrage echoed against the cement floor of the stairwell. "He isn't a puppy, Ginny! You can't just kennel him while you are busy and pick him back up when you good and feel like it! Just because it's finally convenient for you to fit a child into your life does not mean you can come waltzing back here like nothing ever happened! You have no idea what I've been through with him, what these last two years raising him and becoming a mother has been like!"

"You aren't his mother. I am." She hissed.

"Like hell I'm not his mother! You forfeited that right a long time ago! Giving birth to someone doesn't give you that title, you have to earn it, and I've bloody well earned it! You don't know a single thing about him; what scares his at night, how warm he likes his bath, or what songs to sing to him to make him stop crying when he gets hurt! You don't know anything, so how do you expect to raise him? How do you think you are going to be able to explain to him what is happening to him, why you took him away from the only thing he knows?"

Her lips curled back over her teeth in a way that made her look like a total stranger, and it was then that Hermione realized that was what she had become. The words that came out of that twisted mouth only confirmed it. "That's why we have you, isn't it? You've got quite a way with obliviating, don't you?"

Yes, she did. And Ginny's eyes rolled back in her head as soon as the repulsive words had passed her lips.

Hugo returned from the bathroom, hands still slightly soapy and shirt splashed with water, to find them still locked in embrace. Having never had to share his mother's arms with anyone else, he quickly ran to her, tugging on her sleeve and gazing in curiosity at the grown-ups before him. Hermione let out a breathless kind of laugh as Ron untangled himself from her enough to reach down and scoop the little boy up with one arm. Once in the air Hugo found himself wrapped tightly between the two of them, and pleasantly discovered that he rather like it. And so he squirmed quite comfortably in their snug embrace, his round cheeks being covered with kisses made salty with tears (of relief, of remorse, of joy, of coming home).

Of course she was scared. How could she not be, when she had spent the last three years convincing herself of how dangerous it would be if she let herself give in to the arms which now held her so tightly? She was terrified, of what Ron would do when (if?) she told him the truth, of what the future could hold for them (all of them), of that pang in her gut that told her how vast a mistake she was making. And maybe the morning would break on Ron alone and unknowing again, with her and Hugo someplace far away where no one would find them this time. But those were feelings for another time and place, and she hardened her heart against the terror they fought to instill. In their place she held onto a blissful naivety that this, the three of them, right now, together, was all she would ever need. It filled her with a pulsing kind of warmth that tingled from the fever at her temples to the toes that Ron kept stepping on in an attempt to get closer. She let him, because she didn't think he could ever be close enough.

If this could last, if this could really be the forever that it felt like, then she could find the strength to face whatever came their way. Tomorrow could bring what it may, but as for now, this was enough.

And they were happy. And they were together. And that was all that really mattered.

* * *

**"We're happy Ma, we're having fun**

**it's beyond my wildest expectation"**

So that story totally ran away from me, and I can't say I minded…

Okay, I hope I've cleared up any lingering questions with this last chapter (I know I've kept a few things open-ended, even now) but let me clear up some of the reviews I've received.

**If she really believed Ron only loved her like a sister, why would she "trap" him in a relationship/family now?** She never truly believed Ron loved her like a sister, she only wanted Ron to believe that, so that it would be easier for him to move on with his life after she left. And she isn't trapping him with anything. She is tired of running, and Ron made it quite clear that he is where he wants to be.

**And the thing about obliviate him... a little extreme!. or not?... and once he was an auror, why continue with all the things, why not come back?** I don't think it is extreme, in the context that, like I said before, she didn't want him to miss her, because she thought she wasn't good for him. And she couldn't just come back after he was an Auror for the same reasons that she told Ginny. She made a decision and she stood by it, she wouldn't want to wreck his life by showing up three years later and expecting him to drop everything for her. I think Hermione has issues with feeling deserving of Ron's love.

**Doesn't she realize that Ron thinks the baby is his?** Yes, she does, and I know this is probably going to offend some people that she doesn't tell him the truth. I almost had her do so, but that just opened up a whole can of worms. Would they tell Ginny? Harry? All the Weasleys? Or raise him on their own? That would be another story entirely, and seeing as she is the only one who knows that Hugo is Ron's nephew, I am okay with her keeping another secret. Would Ron leave if he knew Hugo wasn't his son...I don't think so, and I think Hermione knows that, but she is too scared to take such a chance. And honestly, I think genetics are the smallest part of what makes up a family.

**I never really understood why Ginny wanted to give her baby for adoption and later she gave it to Hermione, or why she didn't tell the truth to her family and ask them to hide it from Harry. Was being pregnant by the love of her life and boyfriend, such an awful thing?** Of course it wasn't. But it having a baby when you are a teenager and not married is ALWAYS scary, even when you know the boy will stand by you like Harry would. And that is what scared Ginny the most, that he would give up his dream to be with her and the child and in the end possibly wind up resenting them both. And we all know Molly wouldn't be able to keep her mouth shut!

**Is Paige an OC? Or someone (like Luna?) from Hogwarts too?** Yay, a question I can easily answer! Paige is just a muggle who lives in Hermione (or Hannah, as she calls herself now)'s apartment building.

**It's not a good relationship if one person can walk all over the other one with no consequences.** Of COURSE it isn't. I am not trying to say that this is a healthy relationship, but, in my opinion, R/Hr never has been. I just took that to the umpteenth level. This is a rather dark story for me, and it doesn't necessarily have a happy ending, but that isn't what I was going for. The characters and the situations are extremely flawed, and Ron's anger (and then lack of) and Hermione's deception are in no way excusable, but they are there nonetheless, because it is a story about imaginary characters after all.

Whew!


End file.
